


Soup and a Shoulder to Lean On

by sister_dear



Series: Cooking With Wild [2]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cooking, Depression, Depressive Episode, Ensemble Cast, Found Family, Gen, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Platonic Relationships, Recovery, Twilight is a good friend, Wild (Linked Universe)-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26837401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_dear/pseuds/sister_dear
Summary: After three days of Wild doing nothing but walk and sleep, Twilight decides it’s time for an intervention.
Relationships: Twilight & Wild (Linked Universe)
Series: Cooking With Wild [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947757
Comments: 30
Kudos: 360





	Soup and a Shoulder to Lean On

**Author's Note:**

> Not quite as fluffy as my usual, please mind the tags.

“Wild.”

Wild stays as he is, facedown in his bedroll. 

“C’mon, Wild, it’s too early for bed.”

Wild makes a muffled noise, not lifting his head. Twilight’s hand comes down on his shoulder. 

“You haven’t done anything but walk and sleep the past few days. It’s time for something else.” 

Wild doesn’t want to do anything else. He isn’t sick, but lately the things that would usually hold his interest have no appeal. He just wants to sleep.

The blanket is flipped off his shoulders. Wild cracks an eye open, peering up at Twilight with disgruntled disinterest. “I’m tired.” 

Twilight sighs. He looks pretty tired himself. “I know. Sit up, c’mere.” 

Twilight’s not going to leave him alone. Wild grunts, sitting up slowly, every limb weighed down with the desire to sleep. He leans into Twilight’s side with a yawn. Twilight slings an arm around his waist, the loose embrace all hard, sturdy lines of leather and chainmail. Wild blinks at their campsite, feeling vague and slow. Before he can start to drift off again, Twilight jostles him a little, rubbing his arm vigorously in the manner of someone trying to ward off a chill. “Don’t go back to sleep. How about we make some soup? Something easy. You can show me how it’s done.” 

“I’m not very hungry.” He’s not hungry at all. 

“Then a nice light soup will be perfect. You skipped lunch, Wild, you need to eat. Does something else sound better? Here, let’s see what’s in your slate.”

Wild gives in to Twilight’s expectant look, moving as slowly as if he were his real age and not the seventeen years of it he’s actually lived. He flips to the ingredients, swiping through them with little interest. Twilight prods him for his opinions, refuses to navigate when Wild tries to hand the slate over even though by now he could easily do it himself. They settle on a simple potato soup. It does actually sound kind of good, though the thought of peeling potatoes and dicing onions is daunting enough to quash any desire to actually make it. 

“Your bedroll is no place to be chopping vegetables,” Twilight says firmly. “Let’s go sit by the campfire.” He hauls Wild to his feet. Wild stares longingly at his bedroll before he steps away from it with a great sigh. 

Time joins them at the campfire, clad only in his light tunic and dark underlayer. “I hear we’re making soup? I’ll help; if Malon is to be believed, I’m not completely hopeless in the kitchen.”

Wild makes an indistinct noise, dropping gratefully to the ground near where someone else has set up the cookpot. He has enough tools for the three of them; if Time wants to join Wild isn’t going to stop him. He passes out tools and potatoes, setting listlessly to work. Wild, who would normally outpace the other two with ease, finds his mind keeps wandering away from its task. He’s only on his second one when Twilight shows him a platter of potato chunks that are far too large. “These good?” Wild scowls at him. The hint of a smile on Twilight’s face says he knows the answer to that question perfectly well. Wild gives his side a half-hearted poke. 

_“No.”_

Twilight snickers, cutting his potatoes to a more reasonable size. Wild hands him an onion next in retaliation. Twilight takes this small revenge with far too much cheer.

The motions of peeling and chopping, monotonous though they may be, have begun to wake Wild from the sleepy stupor he was content to stay in, Twilight’s careful teasing drawing him out still further. His mind ticks of its own accord over the contents of his slate, searching for something else to add to make this a real soup. Something easy. Like carrots and mushrooms. Time takes the additional vegetables without comment. 

Everything but the potatoes will need to be sautéed first. They should have started with chopping those and done the potatoes last, to save time. Too late now. Wild eyes the pot that has been warming over the fire, the platters of prepared veggies, the distance between. He’s going to have to get up again. Maybe he can make someone else stir. Not Hyrule. Wild adores his adventure buddy, but he takes far more supervision around a cookpot than Wild feels capable of right now.

Wild heaves himself to his feet long enough to drop a sprinkling of oil and everything but the potatoes into the pot. He sits back down next to Twilight, breath escaping in a tired burst of air. Twilight looks from him to the unattended pot, worry creasing strange lines through his tattoo. Wild ignores him in favor of de-stemming a few handfuls of herbs. Time only leans back on his hands, platter of chopped potatoes by his knees, watching without comment.

As usual, the sound of sizzling food and the smell of aromatics beginning to cook doesn’t take long to attract an audience. Legend is the first to take the bait. 

“Are you actually cooking tonight?” He eyes Wild’s proximity to the pot, the closest he’s gotten to it for the past few days. 

Wild thrusts Sky’s cooking spoon into his hands. Legend grabs it more out of habit than conscious thought. “You’re helping. Stir that. Don’t let it burn.”

There’s a flash of panic across Legend’s face. Twilight snickers. Warriors comes to Legend’s rescue, plucking the spoon from his unresisting fingers with a roll of his eyes. 

“Let me. You’re almost as hopeless as Hyrule.” 

“Hey!” 

Ignoring the bickering is second nature by now. Warriors stirs the pot about as often as it seems he ought to, so Wild feels free to ignore them otherwise. He goes back to plucking herb leaves from their stems. It’s brainless, mind-numbing work, and Wild’s thoughts begin to drift. Twilight leans into his space, brushing their elbows and shoulders together, knocking him back into the solid reality of the campsite. Like he used to do when he was Wolfie. When he couldn't talk, and Wild didn't like to. It's so easy to fall back into those patterns. 

“I think this is ready,” Warriors says. He and Legend are peering into the pot as if it holds the answers to all the mysteries of the universe. Wild grunts acknowledgment. 

“It’s time to add those,” he says to Twilight and Time, indicating their respective platters of chopped potatoes. 

“I don’t think so,” Twilight shakes his head. “This is your soup. You’re not getting out of all the work.” So saying, he swaps the board in his lap for the bowl of herbs in Wild’s. Wild's glower is ineffective. He gets to his feet _again,_ adding first Twilight’s potatoes and then the ones that Time hands him with the barest hint of a knowing smile. Then herbs, broth, instruct Warriors to give it one last good stir, and Wild can sit down again. He slumps over his knees. 

Near silent footsteps run up behind him. Wild recognizes them just soon enough to not be startled when Wind barrels into his back. Wild’s breath escapes him in a huff of noise. Wind’s arms drape themselves over Wild’s shoulders, his hands clasping each other over Wild’s chest in a loose hug. 

“You’re cooking again?”

Everyone sounds so excited about that. “Yeah.”

“Yes!”

Hyrule isn’t far behind. He leans into Warriors’ personal space to stick his head above the pot, sniffing hopefully. “Smells good.” 

Sautéed onions make anything smell good. Wild hums, leaning back into Wind. He’s still not hungry, but the smell isn’t bad, per se. Wild can hear the soup start to simmer before Legend gives confirmation. “It’s bubbling,” he reports. 

“Fifteen minutes.” Wild gestures vaguely at Time, who nods. His ability to keep perfect track of his namesake comes in very handy when cooking. Four and Sky have come back from whatever it was they were off doing together before the fifteen minutes are up, so Wild has the intense scrutiny of eight hungry boys and men when he gets up to check the potatoes for doneness and do a taste test. He doesn’t trust this part to anyone but himself. 

It’s mild, maybe a little too mild, but Wild isn’t in the mood for strong flavors today. Which means… 

“It’s done,” he announces, kicking off a flurry of chatter and mostly-friendly jostling. 

Once Wild starts to eat he actually feels a little sick, body finally realizing how hungry it is. He eats slowly and feels full too soon. With eight other people watching him with varying degrees of sternness and concern, he makes himself finish his serving anyway. Sky takes the empty bowl from his hands when he’s done, offering one of his characteristic gentle, understanding smiles. 

Wild leans against Twilight. He doesn’t want to join the post-meal conversation, but sometime over the course of the evening Twilight’s shoulder has become more appealing than his bedroll. He sets his head down, fur a familiar comfort under his cheek. Twilight’s arm comes back around him, squeezing once before settling into a loose hold, full of pride and care. 


End file.
